


Wear Me Out

by princehadri, whytekatt



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Character Death, Daddy Kink, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Humanstuck, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Incest, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Consensual, Nonconsensual Exhibitionism, Oral, Prostitution, Rape, Recording, Sex Trafficking, Snuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2017-12-22 18:54:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princehadri/pseuds/princehadri, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whytekatt/pseuds/whytekatt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You never thought there was a way to feel even more hopeless than you already do. You never thought there was a step down from rock bottom.</p><p>You never thought you could give a shit about anybody else. You never thought you would. </p><p>But the world loves to throw you curve balls.</p><p>And that’s exactly what Gamzee Makara is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Say What You Mean

He's a big guy. Six foot three at least, not including his unruly mane of hair. You look at him and take in every damning detail like a rabbit that realizes it has nowhere left to run from the fox.

Dark eyes, dark skin, dark hair. Scars over his face. From the way the skin on his arms is discolored in sporadic areas, you can guess that he has scars all over the rest of him, too.

And while he looks menacing, the purple eyes that meet yours are just as dead.

He's as hopeless as you even if he's smiling.

You don't bother to respond to his presence. The fact that he can smile - or even fake one - just makes you angry. At least, it would, if you had enough energy to give a fuck.

"Yo."

"What."

Your voice is flat on your own ears. A harsh discord made worse by how long it's been since you even bothered to speak.

But this guy...this bastard in front of you needs a fucking reality check.

"Look...it ain't like I really...want to do this either, okay bro?"

Like you haven't heard that one before. It practically serves as an introduction in this pit.

Not that you want to know their names.

Not with what they've all done to you.

Not that they ever ask who you are.

"How about you fucking listen to me for a second," You rasp out, forcing your battered body to sit up on what constitutes as your bed. "Like hell am I your 'bro', and like fucking hell do you get to complain about shit. You didn't get the short end of this stick."

He looks a little surprised at your attempted outburst.

A little.

You're losing your touch.

You used to be able to rant and rave and scream until no one could come near you until the Boss beat your ass back down.

But after enough beatings from that guy, anyone would start to give up.

And you were no exception.

So you started to do your best to cope and suffer in silence.

Maybe that's why they sent this guy. By the looks of him, he's been stuck in this business for as long as you have.

Part of you is surprised that you've never met him before. You thought everyone had gotten their fucking grubby hands on you.

"We don't gotta just motherfucking jump into things." The stranger sounds tired as he sits down on the dirty cement floor. "It's not like I'm really up and jumping to go, either."

You watch him distrustfully but relax a fraction when he doesn't do anything else.

"They told me...you're Karkat, right? I've heard about you."

When you hear your name your gaze sharpens. You don't like surprises.

"How the fuck would you know that?"

"You kinda got a reputation." He laughs. Or you think he's laughing, anyway. His bony shoulders have hunched upwards and he's making this quiet noise as he shakes his head. Fucking weirdo.

"For what?"

"Heard about you tryin' to bite a guy's junk off one time." 

Oh.

You had gotten good and fucked up for that stunt.

"But..." He sobers up suddenly, looking at you with unreadable eyes. "Heard another thing...that you've been here since you were just a kid." The words hang in the air while he pushes his hair out of his face. "...so I guess that gives us a little somethin' in common."

That's why you recognized the look in his eyes.

He's as fucked up and damaged as you are.


	2. Tell Me I'm Right

You find out that the guy’s name is Gamzee. He doesn’t offer a last name and you don’t ask.

It’s easier that way.

The first few times he visits, he leaves without touching you.

How he gets away with it, you have no idea.

Maybe he doesn’t.

The extent of the scars that you saw didn’t exactly tell the story of a very obedient guy.

"What up, my motherfucking brother?"

You look up with more eagerness than you planned when you hear his voice. 

"Gam—"

He’s bleeding from a cut on his forehead and its dripping down onto his cheek. But that isn’t what makes you cut off short. There’s a bruise over his eye that isn’t so much a ‘black eye’ as it is a ‘black face’. It isn’t as fresh as the cuts, but it still makes you cringe just to imagine how bad that hurts.

"What?" Gamzee smiles broadly, his grin distorted by the swelling that hasn’t gone all the way down yet.

"The fuck happened to your face?!"

"Oh. This old motherfucker? I pissed off the wrong guy. But that ain’t important. You hungry?" He sits down in his usual spot and pushes a still wrapped hamburger over to you before you can even answer.

You snatch it away from him immediately, barely able to get the paper out of your way before you begin to devour it. 

"Shit, bro. Slow down before you choke or somethin’. I don’t know how to save you if ya do."

Just to get him to shut up, you do as you’re told. But you only have another bite or two until you’re done, so it doesn’t serve any purpose.

"…how’d you get it?" You ask after you’ve finished, balling the wrapper up in your hands.

It isn’t that they don’t feed you. It’s a bargaining chip. If you do as you’re told, you get fed. If you ‘perform’ well, you get fed more. And the more money you bring in, the better you’re fed.

Recently, you’ve been starving.

"That isn’t important." He smiles - frustrating as ever - which causes the blood to dribble into the corner of his eye without him noticing.

"Yeah it fucking is, you stupid asshole." You lean forwards and wipe the blood away with the edge of your sleeve, while Gamzee goes still and watches you. "I mean…I know what you’ve gotta do for food here."

His smile tenses while he shakes his head.

"I did the Boss a favor. That’s all."

He doesn’t have to say anything else for you to understand. More than once, you’ve been the once forced down onto your hands and knees and into a multitude of disgusting situations for the entertainment of that man. At his hands.

"So why didn’t you eat it?"

"Why would I? Got it for you, bro."

Your chest goes tight and it’s hard to breathe all of a sudden. The lump in your throat is making it hard to swallow down the expression of surprise that you know is pasted on your face.

"Everybody knows you don’t really…" Whatever Gamzee was going to say trails off into a sharp gasp and his hand presses hard against your shoulder.

You’ve moved onto your knees and leaned forwards, mouth pressed against the crotch of his jeans. The blinking red light in the corner of your vision reminds you of the ever present camera in your room and you avoid looking at it. You haven’t gotten used to it. You’re just good at pretending it isn’t there.

"You got the shit beat out of you because you…" You unzip his pants without him protesting. He’s not touched you and even the hand on your shoulder moves now. Is it a sign of protest or consent? Do you really care?

No.

Your hand moves more firmly over his covered groin. “They tried to stop you, didn’t they?” You barely notice his nod as he just watches you. Your head moves down again, teeth grabbing the top of his waist band and pulling his underwear down some.

You would be impressed that he’s so hard already if it weren’t for the fact that you’ve seen this sort of thing a hundred times before.

It was always the same.

They were all the same. A little give here to get a little something there. And you thought that he was just a nice guy.

Fucking figures. His lips part just slightly as you breathe against the heated skin of his erection. Your teeth graze against him but he doesn’t tense up despite what he’s heard about you. Maybe he trusts you. Or maybe - and more likely - he’s just stupid and horny.

Like the rest of him, he’s  _big_. You’ve had bigger, but all the same it’s kind of intimidating.

"Bro, I—"

This time he doesn’t trail off in a lost train of thought so much as he’s busy groaning and unable to speak at all. You tongue over the underside of his cock while he leans back and the camera on the wall whirs to life.

Just as you expected. They likely lured him down here - or rather lured you into acting. Food for a fuck.

Sick.

But you continue anyway. All a show for the people paying.

And all the same, he still doesn’t touch you.

You can’t help but wonder why. With the noises he’s making and how painfully hard he is, you want to know  _why_ he refuses to lay a hand on you.

But you already feel like you know the answer.

You’re filthy. You’ve fucked more guys that most people have ever met. You can’t blame Gamzee for not wanting to get mixed up with that.

Then why did he keep coming back, day after day? Refusing to do what they wanted at risk of his own safety. After all, there was only one reason you ever got visitors.

'Customers' or other 'workers'; the former who got a sick thrill out of having freedom to do nearly whatever they wanted with your broken body and the latter who were just as messed up as you and were forced to do as they were told just to avoid broken bones and bruises.

Bruises like the ones that cover half of Gamzee’s face.

His hips twitch just slightly but you notice. Your hands splay over his sharp hips and press down to keep him still so that you can work on getting the rest of his length down your throat.

For once you’re thankful that the Boss all but forced you to lose your gag reflex.

You catch the movement of his fingers and hands twitching out of the corner of your eye. He wants to touch you. So why doesn’t he?

Keeping him pinned down, you move a hand to grab his and place it on your head. He doesn’t keep it there for long and you hear him whine at the motion.

You bury your nose against his groin, trying again to get him to hold you there. But he doesn’t. He won’t and you can see his fingers trying to dig in to the hard concrete to keep you from trying again.

For the time being, you respect his wishes and constrict your throat around him.

This time his entire body twitches in a hard shudder, hips lifting and lips pressed together. It doesn’t last long until he’s gasping for breath and he loses his self control.

You feel his hand press too hard against the back of your head, both of his hands clutching at your messy hair as if it’ll make a difference. You weren’t planning on stopping anyway.

When he reaches his climax, you can barely hear him from behind his clenched teeth. But as he thrusts hard into the back of your throat and you’re struggling to swallow down his cum in order to breathe, you can’t help but wonder how long it’s been for him, for him to end up this pent up.

Or rather, when the last time it was actually  _pleasurable_  for him.

You know all too well that a climax doesn’t mean pleasure or that the release was good. No, a climax is just that - the body’s way of releasing after too much stimulation.

But this was something different.

You pull away from him, eyes down, trying to hide your own length as you wipe off your mouth. He got his reward and with enough wishing, your own pain would go away. It always did.

Gamzee’s still silent. 

He doesn’t talk and it’s so foreign for him to be  _quiet_  that you’re beginning to wonder if you broke him when he speaks back up.

"…you didn’t need to do that." His half lidded gaze directs itself to you for a second while he tucks himself back into his jeans and zips up. 

There’s a look in those eyes - just like the one he had the first time you saw him. Hollow. A mirror of what yours used to look like. What you can tell they look like again right now.

He gets up without another word and you don’t watch as he leaves.

But the telltale click of the door gives it away.


	3. Let the Sun Rain Down On Me

You haven't seen Gamzee in weeks.

It's strange, how you miss him. You had gotten too used to his visits and grew to expect them. 

Yet another thing stolen from you by this hellhole.

Some days, you think they just have no use for the two of you together.

Some days, you think he's making an effort to avoid seeing you.

You pass the time in the only way you know how:

You sleep.

You sleep and try to dream away the nightmares and slowly wither away.

No human being can live like this. You've dealt with it for going on twelve years (at least, you think that's how long it's been) and hope simply fades away after so long.

They see you as something less than even an animal.

Where you had been thin, you're now emaciated. Where you had been bony, you're skeletal.

But why should you care?

You don't know how pathetic you look when the camera zooms in on you and transmits its near constant feed.

You don't know who sees it. 

You don't give a shit.

But when the door to your room opens and you glance up out of reflex, you doubt your own eyes and it's hard to breathe.

The wounds that were on Gamzee's face the last time you saw him have long since healed and he looks...healthy. There's color to his skin and a tone to his body. He looks like an entirely different person and that's when all the pieces fall into place.

"...you're..."

It's hard to breathe again but this time you feel sick and _stupid_. How could you not have noticed before?

"...one of his kids." Gamzee fills in the blanks easily and crouches down to get at eye level with you. "I guess I'd be a Makara if my old man didn't like to pretend I don't exist." The toothy half smile that you remember so well is back but it only makes you angry.

You knew he looked - acted - too familiar.

"You're the Boss' fucking kid and didn't  _say shit_?!"

The eyes that you thought had simply been black or dark brown go wide and now you can see them for what they really are. Deep dark purple. The exact same unearthly shade as his father's.

"I thought you motherfucking knew, bro...thought everybody did."

And everyone  _else_ probably did. But you've never given a shit about the inner world of the ring. You just want out.

One of his scarred hands reaches for your pale one and this time it's you who refuse to touch him.

"...Karkat..." His hand returns to his side and you stare him down with nothing but spite in your eyes. "I told you...been stuck in this place for as long as you have. When Boss decided I was old enough..." He shrugs and smiles at you halfheartedly.

"His own fucking kid?" Maybe you only believe him because you  _want_ to. You're desperate for an ounce of compassion and for his twisted plight to be the truth. You  _want_  him to be as ruined as you. Because then it means that just maybe you have a chance.

"I guess. He wasn't really much of a dad. But that shit isn't important right now. You...look motherfucking awful, man."

His words aren't intended to hurt but they cut deep, surprising you. Since when do you care what other people think of how you look?

"You not workin'? When's the last time you ate, skinny little motherfucker?"

You curl against yourself without a word. How are you supposed to answer that? How are you supposed to even look at him?

How are you supposed to tell him that you haven't done  _anything_  since the day he walked out?

"I just don't feel like it. You look..."  _Better than I do._

Gamzee shifts from his crouch and settles down on the floor with his legs splayed out in front of himself. 

"They got a...new guy. Gotta be around your age. Sweet kid." His words wander off as he stares up at the single naked bulb installed in the ceiling. "...amputee. Don't got his legs from the knees down. They wanted to go ahead and break him in." 

His words are flat and detached and you can hear exactly how much he hates himself through his emotionless tone.

"Motherfucker kept screamin' and cryin' and..." You feel sick just listening to him talk and you want to make him stop just to give him that relief. But you don't. You can't find the words to tell him.

"I guess they liked that shit, on account'a how they kept at it with the filmin'. I lost count, bro..." He stops talking when you crawl into his lap and press the palm of your hand against one of his cheeks and your own against his other.

"Shhh...you do what you have to. I know, okay?" You half smile as you pull back, the ache back in your chest as he stares up at you with those puppy dog eyes.

When his arms wrap around you and hold you close and his lips press against yours as he murmurs words you can't hear, you realize something.

You've been waiting for this for a long time.


	4. Give Me A Sign

You don't know how he managed it, but Gamzee is the only visitor that you get, not including the nameless and faceless men who drop off food twice a day - and clothing every other day.

The first time you find a clean pair of jeans and a shirt folded alongside your breakfast, you can't believe your eyes. You don't remember the last time you've gotten new clothing that aren't too big hand me downs. These actually fit.

Gamzee himself shows up at least three times a week, exhausted and reeking of sex but  _smiling_. And you can't help but smile.

You try to ignore the questions in the back of your mind that demand to know  _what_  he's doing to get all of these privileges. Because  _you_  sure as hell aren't the one earning all of it.

But when he undresses in front of you, you don't see any more horrible injuries. Just scratches down his back, cresent moon fingernail marks on his hips, bite marks on his neck, hickeys on his chest. He's battered and often bruised, but the way he always comes back to you and smiles and laughs lets you know he isn't  _broken_.

Gamzee Makara is a fighter, and he makes you feel like you can be one too.

You still can't help but feel jealous when you see the marks. When he visits you and you move to unzip his jeans and he stops you with an exhausted smile. It's made worse by the way he pushes you back and you find yourself with your cock down his throat and your hands in his hair while he hums and sucks you dry.

The times that he has the energy to move his body against yours and make you whimper and cry out are few and far between. You understand why, but it hurts.

It hurts to know that while you're living like a free man (or, as free as you can in a place like this), he's still shackled to the life and used as little more than fetish fodder for fucked up bastards who get off on  _watching_.

It hurts to know that there's others who touch him and make him gasp and grit his teeth like he always does when he's with you.

You understand.

You understand and you hate it.

"Gamzee." His head is in your lap and you've been absently petting his hair for the last half hour while he sleeps, but when you say his name he stirs and his eyes open.

"What up, Karbro? It time for me to go already...?"

You shake your head and he sits up, rubbing his eyes and pushing his messy black hair out of his face.

"You okay?" This time it's his turn to run his fingers through your hair, lips pressing against yours.

"...I want out."

Gamzee gives you a knowing smile, but it's all sad empathy as he shakes his head. "You ain't the only one." He kisses your forehead and he pulls you against his chest when you grunt an acknowledgement. "I guess...I got somethin' to admit."

You're on your guard as he speaks, craning your neck to look up at him but he whispers against your ear before you can look up at his face.

"I'm pretty motherfucking sure I love you, bro..."

_That's_  something you never expected to hear.

You haven't heard it in years. Not since you were a little kid.

"And it ain't like I'm the quickest guy, so...shit. I mean...you want out...I'll get you out, alright?"

You don't expect to answer him at all but your tongue betrays you, trying to ignore what he had said first.

"...only if you come with me. You're a fucking moron. You can't stay here on your own."

"Motherfucking deal."

Neither of you talk after that and you fall asleep in his arms, feeling  _safe_  for the first time in your life.

Hours pass that way but some time during the night (you can only guess; you never know what time it is in your room) he lays you down on your mattress and leaves.

You wake up alone with his ratty old purple sweatshirt draped over you and you know that means he's coming back.

He told you once that it's the only present he ever got. His brother gave it to him when he was a kid, before he went off to college and left Gamzee with his father and this life. It's the one thing he has that he cares about and if he left it with you...

You sit up and pull it on and bring the hood up over your face while you wait.

It smells like him. Only him.

And now it smells like you too.

You must have fallen asleep again like that, because when you come to, Gamzee has his hand over your mouth.

"Shhh. These cameras got sound."

Well no shit. Everyone knows that. 

You look up at him questioningly just in time to see him mouth  _Follow my lead_.

Gamzee is a crazy motherfucker - he's said so himself - but you trust him. You don't have any other option.


	5. I Want to Believe

While Gamzee leads you through the winding corridors of the steel and concrete building that’s constituted as your home for the last few years, you learn several things about him.

He doesn’t lie or even hesitate to answer when you ask your questions, though you can hear the self loathing in his usually cheerful voice.

You find out that while he had been telling the truth when he said he had always been a part of the ring, that wasn’t the  _entire_ truth.

"You were a…guard?"

"Sorta. I mean…I guess. Boss…Father…" Gamzee spits the word like it’s poison, "Had me working as a, oh, he called it an Enforcer. I would make sure people behaved and help arrange the…outside jobs…" You had always known that the ring contracted out whores, but  _you_ had never been involved in that. They’d rather use you for more brutal jobs.

His grip on your arm has loosened, but you can tell he’s doing his best to keep up appearances. The initial grasp left the promises of bruises on your pale skin. You can’t hold it against him. 

"I got into shit then. Drugs and that sorta crap." That explains the old scars that cover his forearms. "Boss…demoted me. Threw me in a cell and forgot my damn name." Gamzee laughs and brushes his lips over your cheek in the gentle graze of a kiss.

"Makara?"

A guard addresses him and Gamzee is all business once more. His hand tightens around your thin arm and he pulls you against him with a leer, the palm of his free hand sliding over your ass and squeezing.

"What you want, motherfucker? Can’t a brother take one of the whores out for a spin?"

You watch as the guard eyes you both over, hesitant and thinking over his words carefully. “Boss has a job for him, you better make it fucking quick.”

Gamzee grips your arm tight and jerks you around until you’re out of sight from the guard and everyone else. “Alright, Karbro, just do what I told you to and you should be way out of here before they start looking.”

Something doesn’t seem right. “Aren’t…aren’t you coming?”

His smile makes you even more uneasy, but you know if you don’t listen to him, you’ll both be in terrible trouble. You give one last look back before running out of the building and into the unknown. You only hope that you can put enough space between you and them…and that Gamzee will be soon behind you.

The city is huge and you only barely know where you’re going thanks to Gamzee’s instructions. 

You’re out of place as you stop in front of the small shop he had told you to get to. Your meeting place. With any luck, Gamzee’s already made it there and has been waiting for your lost ass to find the right place. He’s native to this city and knows the place like the back of his hand. Fucking street rat.

You shuffle barefoot into the shop and no one gives you a second look. Not that you notice. You’re too focused on the black haired lanky figure leaning against the wall not even five feet from you.

"Gamzee! You fucker! You fucking  _did_ it! You  _stupid_ fucking clown, you  _did_ it!” You run the few steps to him and fling your arms around him, face buried against his mid back. “I fucking love you, you moron.”

"Ah…" A hand just as pale as yours touches against your arm as he turns to look at you. "Not…quite Gamzee. Close, though."

You recoil immediately, clutching at your borrowed sweatshirt and pulling it tight around yourself.

"Gamzee told me you’d be wearing that old thing." Their smile is identical and you know without a doubt that this has to be the brother he told you about.

"He’s … " You look around quickly and notice that he’s the only one who looks like the person you’re looking for. "Did … Did he get out?" You’re not sure if you want to know the answer, but this fellow just shakes his head.

"He’ll likely rendezvous with us in a few days. He can’t exactly disappear as easy as you can."

You have no choice but to take this stranger’s word. After all, this was Gamzee’s brother: the only other person that Gamzee had ever spoken fondly about.

"He knows where I’m staying, so he’ll just find us there." Kurloz turns you around and is leading you out of the shop and back to the street. "He’ll be here before you know it."


	6. Epilogue

Despite Kurloz’s promises, as the weeks pass, Gamzee doesn’t show. You don’t hear a word from him and you can tell that the hope within the elder Makara has died as well.

Sometimes, when you’re lonely enough - scared and hopeless and wishing that you had never gotten out - you nestle against Kurloz on the couch and pretend.

He doesn’t say anything about it.

You don’t push it.

He isn’t Gamzee and it isn’t the same. You’re just thankful not to be  _alone_.

You know that Gamzee would be pissed at you, using the freedom he won you just to mope around and sleep all day. What difference is that from the life you had been leading?

Sometimes you go out. It’s never for long. You’re too afraid of being caught and taken back to the ring.

You try to put your old life behind you.

But a single scrap of paper sends that all crashing down around you.

It was slipped under the door one night while you were asleep, and it’s there to greet you in the morning.

TO: KARKAT VANTAS

The angry purple letters stare you down from the doorway. You don’t want to open it. You don’t even want to touch it. But you have to. 

Within it is only a website address and a smiling face in that same purple.

You type the url into your browser with your heart in your throat. You don’t know what you’re expecting to find, but when it prompts you for your name and accepts it with a cheerful ‘bing!’, the sight that greets you is something out of your most horrifying nightmares.

You don’t recognize him at first; it’s dark and he’s covered in red. But then a bright light turns on in the room and you can feel your insides sink.

He’s bound to a stretcher, legs and arms splayed out. His head is secured down and there’s a gag in his mouth. You can see fresh scratches and bruising on his dark flesh - everywhere. There’s nothing but the straps around his wrists, ankles, head and two over his torso to obstruct your view.

That’s when you see it. No.  _Him_.

A  _monster_  of a man enters the picture and looks directly at the camera. Directly at  _you._  You catch his eyes and you can tell that he’s staring right into your soul. The hair raises on the back of your neck and you can feel your skin getting goosebumps. You want to run - to get Kurloz - but you can’t. You’re frozen in your seat and as the seconds stretch into feeling like minutes, you feel yourself losing hope and power over the situation.

Much to your own mind’s dismay, you lean in closer to the computer screen.

"Don’t."

He can’t hear you.

"Please, stop!"

He  _still_  can’t hear you.

A smile spreads over lips that look  _oh_ so familiar - a cruel and sinister smile.

The figure turns his back to you and starts towards Gamzee. You jump up, almost out of your seat and grab the computer screen.

"No! Don’t touch him!"

Your eyes are welling now, panic in your voice.

He. Can’t. Hear. You. 

The mottled purple bruises that cover your friend’s arms are a perfect fit to the other man’s fingers when Boss grabs him. It doesn’t take any stretch of the imagination to picture what’s been going on since you managed to get out.

"Guess what, boy?" His voice is deep and rough and even though he’s speaking into his son’s ear, you can hear him as clearly as if he were standing right beside you. 

There’s no response from Gamzee and if it weren’t for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, you wouldn’t be sure he was even alive.

He grabs hard onto the younger Makara’s jaw and twists his head to face him. You can’t see Gamzee’s expression, but you can see the half healed brand on the side of his neck. 

♑

His thumb forces its way into his son’s mouth alongside the gag and he yanks him to look at the camera. “Smile for your little whore friend…he’s watching.”

As those words echo through your speakers, you finally see some emotion from the lithe figure fastened to the table. He jerks, trying to pull from the larger man and you’re on your feet, holding on to the screen. You don’t know when the tears began to fall, but you’re looking around the room, as if there was a solution to your problem there.

A large hand undoes the restraints and Gamzee is hauled roughly to his feet, his legs not wanting to support his weight as he’s dropped onto the floor. His knees hit the ground hard and you flinch at the sight and the noise alike, but he doesn’t even blink. 

"You remember the deal." Boss’ words aren’t a question. You can only imagine how long this has been going on. Was it immediate? Every day since you escaped? And that motherfucker probably knew something like this was going to happen.

"This isn’t what was supposed to  _happen_ ,” You whisper at your computer screen desperately. You’re trying to bargain with a monster who can’t hear you. 

Gamzee’s teeth are clenched hard against the ball that’s in his mouth and he looks like he’s got that spark of life back in his eyes, but he just hollowly nods his head instead. 

"You know the drill." 

Gamzee rubs at the restraint marks on his wrists and you flinch when you see just how raw the wounds really are. There’s old blood dried around his wrists - and his ankles too, you’re sure. 

"You’re stalling." But it seems like his stubborn streak has paid off, because Boss unbuckles the gag with one hand and it drops to the concrete floor while Gamzee takes in a lungful of air like it’s been ages since he’s been able to breathe. "Let him hear you, then. See if I mother fuckin’ care."

Your friend doesn’t look at you - at the camera - when he lets his hand wander down his stomach and start stroking against his cock. He’s not even half hard, but since when has that ever stopped anyone in your line of ‘business’? Half the time when you were forced onto your stomach, you ended up getting off and that was good enough for them. Whether your mind had wanted it or not.

"Good boy." The words are a joke. "Show your mother fucking boyfriend how messed up you are. How much you like your own goddamn  _daddy_.” 

You can’t see Boss’ face, but you’ve been face to face with that lecherous leer too often to ever forget it.

"I don’t…—" His head is wrenched to the side by a massive hand grabbing his mess of hair, and whatever else Gamzee was going to say is cut off by gagging as Boss forces his son’s face against his groin.

"Don’t give a shit what you think, boy. Suck, or it’s goin’ in dry."

You can’t see it, but you can hear the wet noises as he obeys. You’re thankful for at least that much.

His father’s hand is tangled in his hair and you can hear Gamzee choke when he’s dragged forward, being used as little more than a toy. That’s all either of you were, though. 

Gamzee doesn’t try to catch himself when he’s shoved backwards. He just lays on his back on the floor, sprawled there with his too long limbs all over the place. He’s like a puppet with his strings cut. That’s not Gamzee. He doesn’t  _look_ like that. He’s goofy and optimistic no matter what shit is going on with him. He’s your good side, goddammit!

"Spread ‘em." 

No. No. You aren’t fucking watching this right now. He won’t do it. He’s better than that. Better than  _you_ even! He’s stupid but he’s still clever. He’s got to have a way out of this.

His eyes shut tight and he clenches his jaw when Boss moves over him and pulls a leg over his hip. You can tell that he’s trying to be quiet, but with the way he tenses and arches his back and bites his lower lip so hard it goes white, you know he hurts.

But he stays quiet. He doesn’t make a single noise while Boss fucks him against the concrete and grips him by the throat.

It doesn’t occur to you that maybe he isn’t making noise because he  _can’t_.

You don’t realize what’s happening until his eyes are rolling back in his head and his mouth is opening and closing like a fish out of water and he’s clawing at Boss’ hand. The skin that you can see beneath the man’s hand is red and angry looking and now that you’re paying attention, you can  _see_ the pressure he’s putting onto Gamzee’s throat.

"Sh-Shit! Gamzee, you dumbass fucking clown, get him  _off of you_!” You don’t care if you wake up Kurloz or the neighbors or  _anybody_. _  
_

Boss lets up on him after a minute and Gamzee half sits up, making eye contact with the camera. With you. He smiles. Wide and content and exactly how he used to when you would grumble at him and try to tame his uncontrollable hair. But this time he lifts his hand and folds his middle two fingers against his palm while leaving the rest out.

You’ve seen that one before.

_I love you._

There’s tears stinging your eyes and you’re mouthing the words back at him and with the way he grins, you can almost swear that he saw you. Your shaking fingertips press against the screen as if you can touch him and save him the same way that he managed to save you.

You don’t see it, but you hear the sickening crack of bone and when Boss gets off of him and stands up, Gamzee’s body is an unmoving heap on the stained floor. The smile is gone off his face and his eyes are open and vacant and —

You’re going to be sick. 

This isn’t real. 

The camera shuts off seconds before you scream and shove your computer onto the floor.

This didn’t just happen.

He isn’t. He’s not.

That can’t be the truth. You don’t  _want_ it to be. It should have been you instead.

You just want to trade places with him.

All you want is to hear his voice. To hear him reassure you again that it’ll be  _just motherfucking fine, bro_.

But it isn’t gonna be fine.

It’s never going to be  _fucking_ okay ever again. 


End file.
